


Unique

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Durarara!!, Psycho-Pass
Genre: Biting, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Death Threats, Dubious Consent, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Guns, Hate Sex, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2676821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shizuo never actually thought through what to do after he caught Izaya Orihara." Shizuo has been hunting Izaya down since before he became an Enforcer, but he's never considered the ending. Izaya has, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unique

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claws/gifts).



Shizuo never actually thought through what to do  _after_  he caught Izaya Orihara.

It seems like a critical oversight, now. But he’s spent years on the other’s trail, the chase has become such a standard part of his life that dreaming of Izaya’s smirk has become more regular than otherwise. The idea of it being  _over_  is as incomprehensible as imagining his own death, the satisfaction of having Izaya’s throat under his fingers unimaginable even now, with the heat of the other’s body bleeding through his shirt to collect at the pressure of Shizuo’s fingers on his shoulder.

“Good job,” Izaya purrs. His voice is smoother in person, silkier than it sounds in recordings or over the phone, and his smile is brighter, enough to strike sparks off the crimson of his eyes. If Shizuo had bothered to anticipate this moment, he would have expected more humanity, the addition of empathy to fill in the outline of a villain, to make his designated task harder. But Izaya lacks the warmth Shizuo expects from humanity, or maybe there is finally something broken past repair in the Enforcer’s head, that with the other pinned under him and Izaya’s eyes so close to his he can feel his hand start to draw tighter on the trigger of the gun in his hand without a flicker of humane hesitation.

“Are you going to  _shoot_  me, Shizu-chan?” Izaya teases, and Shizuo goes still, stalled into frustration at his choice between letting Izaya live for another second and doing what the other is suggesting, even in jest. “Going to rid the world of a blight like the good little pet you are?”

“You  _are_  a blight,” Shizuo growls. He doesn’t think until the words are past his lips, doesn’t realize these are the first coherent words he’s said for Izaya’s hearing other than hissed curses during taunting phone calls or shouts of the other’s name. “I  _am_  going to kill you, that’s what I’ve been after all this time.”

Izaya rolls his eyes, reaches up so fast Shizuo nearly flinches back even though he knows Izaya’s knife is well out of his reach, now. Thin fingers twist into the front of his shirt, the triangle of white fabric above his black jacket, make a fist with the cloth inside and Izaya’s hand wrapping around it.

“Liar.” Izaya’s voice turns it into a purr; he’s tipping his head back, appears absolutely unconcerned with the shove of the old-fashioned gun against his temple. “You’ve been after  _me_ , you can’t chase a concept like you can a person.”

“It’s the same thing,” Shizuo hisses, jerking against Izaya’s hold on his shirt and shoving the gun harder against the other’s head. “I was chasing you so I could  _kill_  you.”

“You’ve caught me.” Izaya flutters his lashes, blinks slower than Shizuo thinks is really necessary. “You haven’t killed me yet.”

“I’m  _going_  to,” Shizuo repeats,  _again_. His hand is shaking with the adrenaline of the chase but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need a steady hand at this range. He catches the hammer of the gun with his thumb, drags down against the resistance until the weapon clicks, the sound offering loud punctuation to his declaration.

“Sure you are.” Izaya sounds  _bored_ , sounds like he’s speaking to a child, and Shizuo is seething but if he fires now he won’t know what obvious thing he’s  _missing_. “You’re going to squeeze that trigger and blow my brains all across the ground.” He tips his head, presses in against the gun like it’s Shizuo’s fingers pressed against his skin in a caress. “And then you’ll  _win_ , I’ll be gone and it’ll be just you.” His smile pulls wider, his eyes go soft with what would be sympathy on anyone else’s face. “All alone.”

“ _Free_ ,” Shizuo retorts, but he’s not squeezing the trigger.

“ _Alone_.” Izaya’s voice is stretched high around feigned tears. He’s moving his head still, twisting like a snake until Shizuo is nearly afraid he’ll pull loose, but all he’s doing is rubbing against the barrel of the gun in the Enforcer’s hand, turning his head until the metal is brushing the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be  _dead_  and you’ll be alive and there will be no one to understand you, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo is grimacing in confusion, his hold stable but less tight-strung with tension than it was. “You’re fucking  _insane_ , you don’t  _understand_  me.”

“I  _do_.” That’s a purr, sweeping low and rumbling in the other’s chest. He stops wiggling, focuses his eyes on Shizuo’s. The Enforcer can see the individual details of dark eyelashes over his half-lidded gaze. “You’ve been chasing and I’ve been leading you, we understand each other better than anyone else on this planet.” The sunlight glints off the white of his teeth when he grins. “Do you think you’ll be able to find a replacement for me, Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo can feel the cold wash over him like all the warmth has drained from the sunlight. It freezes him in place, stills his hand on the trigger of the gun and locks his breathing out; even his thoughts flatten into blank suspension, his consciousness seizing up into absolute focus on Izaya’s face. The detail in his features is really remarkable, from this close up; Shizuo can see the line between his dark pupils and the blood-scarlet of his eyes, can see the irregular pattern of cracks against his dry lips before his tongue flicks out to smooth them into moisture.

“Why would I want a replacement?” he finally manages, but it’s a weak comeback, delayed too long around his shock and the shiver in his throat to carry any power, and the white slash of Izaya’s smile says he has scented the weakness.

“You need me,” he breathes, shifting his hips like he’s trying to pull free although there’s no strength to his movement. “You can’t  _kill_  me.”

“Like there’s anything else I can do with you,” Shizuo hisses. It’s not until Izaya laughs, the sound tearing mania-high in his throat, that he hears the surrender inherent in that protest.

“There’s something else you can do,” Izaya says, arches up sharply so he’s pressing the front of his black jeans in against Shizuo’s thigh, so the Enforcer can feel how hard he is through the fabric.

The laugh that bursts out of Shizuo’s throat is raw and grating and sincere, true amusement mingled with shocked disbelief. “You’re fucking  _sick_ , you think I’m gonna play into your  _kink_?”

“Yep.” Izaya’s smirking, grinding his hips in against Shizuo’s leg, and Shizuo’s not pulling away, too shocked to even think of moving before Izaya drops his weight back to the ground, slides his foot up higher so his leg comes up between Shizuo’s thighs. “Don’t act like you’re not just as into this as I am.” The pressure runs up against the Enforcer’s pants, digs in against him, and all the breath leaves Shizuo’s lungs in a rush as his skin flashes hot in response, his body reacting on instinct to the friction over the erection he didn’t even realize he had.

“It’s the adrenaline,” he grates out, but it sounds like desperation even in his own mouth and it comes out like a whimper. “From the  _chase_.”

“Yeah,” Izaya agrees with all the taunting lilt of disbelief in the word. “ _Sure_  it is.” He’s twisting sideways, now, angling his legs so when he shifts his weight the sharp line of his hipbone catches against Shizuo’s zipper and digs the weight of the metal in against him. Shizuo groans, tries to shove Izaya down and still, but the motion turns into his hips rocking himself in against the pressure, his fingers are closing hard into the frail shape of Izaya’s shoulder until there’s nothing left of the original intention to pin the other down.

“There’s  _no_  part of you that wants me,” Izaya is saying, and Shizuo isn’t looking at his eyes anymore, he’s staring at the shape of the other’s lips around the words and the flutter of almost-laughter in his throat. “You just get hard about the  _chase_ , that’s what you jerk off to at night, right? It could be anyone, it doesn’t  _have_  to be me.” Shizuo lets his weight drop heavy over the other’s frame, a half-hearted attempt to crush him into breathlessness, but Izaya just purrs and slants his leg up higher, digs the resistance of his thigh in against Shizuo until there is almost no point to the fabric between them. There’s no elegance to his movements, just mindless force, but Shizuo’s not trying to get away, he’s rocking in for more, the heat flushing over his skin is scattering any hope of coherency from his thoughts.

“You want to  _kill_  me.” Izaya’s voice is still taunting, still trembling with amusement over his tongue. He turns his head, farther now than he did before, until his lips catch at the metal of the gun barrel and his voice echoes oddly off the obstruction. “You’re gonna squeeze this trigger anytime now.” His tongue flicks out, slides slow along the bottom of the gun, and Shizuo takes a shocked breath of anticipation the moment before Izaya opens his mouth wide enough to fit the gun past his teeth so he can suck against the barrel. His eyelashes flutter, like he’s tasting something better than dirt and oil and metal, and when he hums Shizuo can feel the buzz up into the gun as much as he can hear the other’s low moan.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, or tries to say; the coherency is mostly lost around the gun, and more so when Shizuo growls and pushes it in farther in what he justifies as an attempt to get Izaya to  _shut up_. In fact his finger is sliding off the trigger, his eyes are caught by the way Izaya’s lips look around the barrel, and when Izaya whines in protest as he pushes too far the sound goes straight to Shizuo’s dick without waiting for permission. Shizuo’s throat contracts around a growl, turns it grating and strained, and he’s leaning in close, too close, his nose is pressed against Izaya’s cheek and his mouth is gasping for air against the other’s jawline and he’s grinding down against the resistance of Izaya’s leg with absolutely no pretense of distaste left. Izaya’s laugh is low and almost choking, dragged out long by the gun in his mouth, but Shizuo doesn’t care, not when it feels like his clothes are burning him by holding the radiance of his own skin too close.

“Get your fucking pants off,” and he’s reaching down, letting Izaya’s shoulder go in favor of forcing his hand down into the nonexistent space between their hips. He pulls too hard, his control slipping until he just tears off the button of Izaya’s jeans instead of pushing it free, but Izaya’s not voicing any kind a protest, he’s licking hard against the gun in his mouth and moaning until Shizuo isn’t sure if he’s trying to talk or just putting on a show. It’s working even if it’s accidental, working so well there’s no point in Shizuo denying it even to himself; he’s achingly hard, his jeans painful friction against his cock, too much and not enough at the same time. The only comfort is that he’s not alone, that Izaya groans something that sounds far more sincere as Shizuo yanks the zipper on his jeans down and the metal slides dangerously close to bare skin.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo spits, drags at the denim as Izaya’s hips arch off the ground to assist in stripping the cloth down off his thighs. There’s a knee digging in hard against Shizuo’s stomach, Izaya’s feet are getting tangled in the fabric but that’s not important, Shizuo doesn’t need him to have his  _feet_  free. “Don’t you bother with  _underwear_?”

“Not for you,” Izaya pants as he slides his head back to free his lips. He’s lifting his hips up off the ground, getting more height than he should be able to with his feet caught in the denim of his jeans, and he’s radiantly hot when Shizuo grabs at his hip to shove him flat against the ground like he’s punishing him.

“Hold  _still_.” Shizuo pushes with the gun, hard enough that Izaya’s head tips sideways in response to the force. The other is still grinning, his lips slick with saliva and bruised red from the resistance of the metal, but he opens his mouth in offering, slicks his tongue over his lower lip in damp suggestion. Shizuo lets his hold on bruised skin go, shoves his fingers in past the dangerous edge of Izaya’s teeth, but there’s no bite like he’s afraid there will be; Izaya just licks wet across his skin, sucks hard on Shizuo’s fingers like he’s urging his touch farther back, taking the intrusion so far Shizuo can feel the other’s throat start to close involuntarily a moment before Izaya chokes and coughs and gasps for air. Shizuo’s fingers are already wet enough anyway; he pulls his hand free, fits his arm between Izaya’s legs so he can shove against the other’s entrance. This doesn’t get the panicked reaction he half-hoped for; Izaya just flutters his eyelashes like he’s being kissed, curves his back in that line that draws the pattern of his ribs clear under his skin, and when Shizuo thrusts his fingers into the other Izaya sighs and lets his weight fall to the ground like all the tension in him has been cut with a knife.

“ _God_ ” and Shizuo can’t tell if that’s sincerity or mocking, isn’t sure Izaya knows any more than he does. “Don’t  _tease_  me, Shizu-chan, either shoot me or fuck me.”

“Stop talking,” Shizuo hisses. He’s shoving his fingers in as deep as he can reach, making less of an effort to ease the other open as much as just forcing into him, but Izaya isn’t giving any sign of pain, is still so hard his cock is brushing his stomach with every shove of Shizuo’s fingers. He’s watching Shizuo’s face, eyes so dark-dilated they look nearly black instead of crimson, smiling with the faint amusement Shizuo has burned into his recognition over years of pursuit. “I like you better with a gun in your mouth.”

Izaya’s laugh is sharp as his eyes, ripples down his throat as he tips his head back to draw the sound taut and purring. “Your  _gun_  in my mouth, is that what you like?” He starts to turn his head, opening his mouth as if in expectation of agreement before Shizuo shoves the barrel harder against the tangle of his hair and growls, “I told you not to  _move_.” That makes Izaya laugh -- he sounds like he’s won a game Shizuo didn’t know they were playing -- but Shizuo doesn’t try to shut him up this time. He drags his fingers free of the heat of Izaya’s body, tips his chin down to watch what he’s doing while he fumbles his pants open one-handed. It’s hard to manage the action with his left hand, harder still to keep his balance while he tears at the button and zipper, but he’s not about to let the threat of the weapon in his other hand go, even if Izaya is laughing as carelessly as if it’s someone else’s life he’s playing with.

The fabric of his clothes catches rough against his skin, drags at the resistance of his cock for a moment before he can work himself free, but Shizuo is too breathless to more than hiss at the discomfort before he’s forcing his pants and boxers down off his hips, far enough out of the way that he can close his free hand around himself and stroke starburst sensation across his length. He’s shuddering from the pleasure, too lost to the heat to notice that Izaya has stopped laughing until skinny fingers close tight around his, squeeze so tight the pressure turns to the edge of pain.

“ _No_ ” and it’s an order, not a plea. Shizuo hisses, forces his grip looser so he can shake off Izaya’s hold, but the other has two hands free, he’s reaching down with his other to replace Shizuo’s hold with his own. His knees are pressing into Shizuo’s chest, his legs angled back so sharply it  _must_  be painful, but he’s not complaining and there’s no trace of hurt anywhere on his face and he’s tipping his hips up, bumping the slick head of his cock against the flat of his stomach while he guides Shizuo in to the right angle by his hold on the other’s length. Shizuo’s knees are aching from being pressed into the ground, his hand on the handle of the gun is starting to shake, but he lowers his weight further, follows the lead of Izaya’s fingers until the head of his cock bumps against the slick left by his fingers on the other’s skin. Izaya lets his breath out, as if he’s been saving it to express his satisfaction, and Shizuo shoves forward, hard enough to slide free of Izaya’s hold on him and thrust more than halfway into the other’s body in one motion.

Izaya hisses, a half-moaned protest at the sudden movement, but Shizuo lacks the attention to concern himself with the other’s state. The sensation is washing out over his self-awareness, turning him into a single thrumming point of heat and friction instead of a conscious functional human. He grabs at Izaya’s knee, shoves the other’s legs up even higher so he can thrust in the rest of the way, and he barely notices the other’s mouth come open, the shiver that wipes the focus in his eyes into shadowed distraction. He’s moving on instinct, pulling back to shove forward again harder and quicker than before, and Izaya’s inhale catches into a tiny gasp that makes him sound fragile, breakable,  _human_.

“God.” A whine of air, the shift of hips as he arches his back to get closer. “You really  _are_  a monster, Shizu-chan.” His voice is shaking, all his composure is shaking out of sync, but Shizuo is only barely listening. His attention is centered on the promise of satisfaction rolling out into his limbs, so focused his gaze is locked on the dark shudder of Izaya’s eyelashes without properly processing what he’s seeing and that’s just making it all worse. The friction is almost a burn on his skin, the resistance of the body under him enough that Shizuo is gasping with each thrust as he slides in against more pressure than his hand ever offers.

He can tell when Izaya manages to slide a hand down between his legs and his stomach to close his fingers on his cock; there’s a tremor that runs through his body, an involuntary ripple of pleasure that pulls over Shizuo, too, and for a minute the threat of tension hovers ready to close on him. It’s his hand that distracts him, some instinct unwilling to let his fingers tighten into a fist, and when Shizuo drags his gaze up the realization that his hand is still clutching the trigger of the gun is enough to frighten the heat away to a manageable level again.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, and he’s shoving the weapon away without thinking, tossing it away until it’s out of reach for both of them. Izaya tips his head back to watch the trajectory, laughs weak and sincere before Shizuo claps his newly free hand over his mouth.

“Shut up,” he demands, thrusts in so hard Izaya’s stroking hand goes still, his eyes roll up for a moment of uncontrolled response. “I almost  _killed_  you.”

“I thought you wanted to,” Izaya says, shaping the words slowly and carefully enough Shizuo can hear them even around the cover of his hand, can feel the slide of lips on his palm tangled with the hot gasp of breath around his fingers.

“Do you  _want_  to die?” Shizuo demands, and Izaya laughs against his hand. It’s not an answer, even the amusement isn’t enough to imply a response, but Shizuo isn’t listening to the reply anyway. His hand is sliding free, shoving in against Izaya’s jaw instead of his mouth, and he’s leaning in so far forward his forehead is bumping Izaya’s jawline as all the movement of his body centers in his hips. Izaya’s laughter fades into gasping, his breath is ruffling against Shizuo’s hair, and Shizuo shoves uselessly at his jaw as his body starts to shake with impending conclusion. He doesn’t shut his eyes, doesn’t close his mouth, so he’s staring at the pale curve of Izaya’s shoulder when he starts to come, groans wordless and loud against Izaya’s neck as the heat of satisfaction bursts out to steal the tension in his limbs. The drag of his weight settles into his muscles, the force of gravity pulling him down atop the other’s body so he’s pressed close enough to feel the tiny convulsive ripple of anticipation in advance of the other’s orgasm. Izaya’s incessant talk goes silent when he comes; all Shizuo hears is the tell of silence as his breathing stalls, the unheard pulse of heat around him as the other’s fingers stroke jerky over himself while he spills across his shirt and the edge of his pants.

Shizuo is just thinking about moving to push the languid weight of his body off the other when Izaya takes a deep breath. When he speaks there’s no shake in his words at all, as if he’s not folded nearly in two by the Enforcer’s weight and as if his fingers aren’t sticky with his own come.

“So, Shizu-chan.” He slides his hand free, reaches up to tangle his fingers in Shizuo’s hair before the blond can pull away. “How does it feel to be understood?”

Shizuo growls sharp anger, sets his teeth in against Izaya’s shoulder and bites hard enough to scrape pain over any normal person’s skin. Izaya just laughs, turns his head sideways as if to encourage more, and without the threat of the gun all Shizuo has left are his fingers and his teeth.

At least he can make the most of those. There’s hardly a point in restraining himself now, anyway.


End file.
